


An angel ain't what I need

by elletromil



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Temporary Amnesia, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-07-23 20:49:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20014594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elletromil/pseuds/elletromil
Summary: At dusk, Harry Hart wakes up on the pavement of a parking lot, bloodied and with no memories of how he got there.Confused, alone, he only has two certainties.One, somehow, somewhen, he met his soulmate.Two, he can't ever let them find him again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I am back with a fourth and final Reverse Bang!
> 
> This time I got the chance to work based on the fabulous artwork by Chibiesque :D I am doing this as a pinch-hitter, but I am so excited that I get to write this story! I hope everyone will enjoy :D
> 
> I want to thank insanereddragon, solrasan and bouncybrittonie for being fabulous cheerleaders and helping me out ironing out plot points <3 And a special thank you for Red especially because she is a google fu master u.u
> 
> Title for this story comes from the song Sanctuary by Joji. Cause you know, my last three had song lyrics as title, I didn't want to break with the theme XD

The pounding headache Harry wakes up to makes him swear he'll never drink another drop of alcohol for the rest of his life.

Then he tries to turn around and he realises two things.

One, he's sore all over.

Two, he's not in his bed.

In fact, he isn't in _any_ bed.

He opens his eyes to the cracked view of the night sky. He freaks out for a moment until he realises there is nothing wrong with his eyes, that it is merely the glasses he's wearing that are broken. Which, while inconvenient, wouldn't be too hard to navigate around.

Except that he's never needed glasses in his life and he has no idea how he came into their possession.

He sits up from the hard pavement carefully, wincing when his left shoulder throbs more painfully than the rest of his body. But any worry about it disappears when he feels something hot slowly running down into one of his eyes. When he wipes it off, he's horrified to see it is blood.

He feels about his forehead until he finds the cut. It _hurts_ , but as much as he can tell, it's not too deep. His getting up is what probably caused it to bleed again.

Just what the _bloody fuck_ has he gotten into?

Gingerly, he pats down the rest of his body, but with the exception of some uncomfortable twinges, it doesn't look like he suffered from any other injuries. He also doesn't fail to notice the very fine make of the suit he's wearing, nor how it is stained with what he very dearly hopes isn't blood.

He looks anxiously around, hoping to recognize his surroundings or spot a helpful samaritan, but no luck there. The park lot is entirely deserted and even if the building in front of him is obviously a church, it’s not one he’s familiar with.

But even if he doesn’t know it, surely they would at least let him use their telephone? If they don’t call the police themselves after taking one look at the state he’s in.

He gets to his feet slowly, feeling slightly unbalanced but thankfully it doesn’t seem like he’s got any dizziness.

He takes the few steps leading him into the church and instantly regrets taking them as soon as he gets inside.

The smell is… _sickening_.

Which is precisely what he proceeds to be as he staggers against the wall. He takes deep breaths for a second afterwards, only realising his mistake too late as the smell permeating the air makes him heave painfully

He fumbles for the pocket square in his breath pocket, shoulders sagging with relief when the scent of peppermint masks the stench.

He hesitates to continue, having half a mind to just leave and tests his luck with one of the buildings he’s seen outside. But what if someone needs assistance? Who knows how long it would take for help to arrive.

He slides along the wall and grips the doorway tightly before taking a proper look inside.

For a moment, he sees nothing. Then his gaze drops to the pews and the floor and he quickly retreats back into the lobby.

It takes a long while before he calms down again. Even longer before he convinces himself it cannot be as bad as he thought it was. Surely what he has seen was a trick from his broken glasses?

He removes them slowly and slides them in his breast pocket, barely registering that he still seems to have perfect vision even without them. He’s got more pressing matters to attend to.

Except, not really.

Whatever happened here, everyone is clearly beyond help.

It’s a miracle Harry escaped relatively unscathed.

As he thinks it, he gets flashes of memories.

The bang of a gun. Bracing his arm against the recoil of a firearm. Blood splashing on him. A hatred running so deep it scares him.

Maybe it wasn’t such a miracle after all.

Heart racing, he tumbles back out of the church and sinks on his knees to the ground of the parking lot.

He feels like he’ll be sick again, but he doesn’t think there’s anything else left for him to throw up.

He curls up around himself, jumping in fright when something blue-ish green come into view. He trashes wildly to escape it until he realises that he’s trying to escape his own wings.

Somehow, somewhen, he’s met his soulmate.

He freezes in shock, what should have been a joyful occasion only filling him with horror and dread.

What kind of person could bond with a monster who killed a whole congregation in cold blood?

***

Harry isn’t sure how long he stays in that parking lot, only that the sun has risen in the sky in the meantime.

He starts walking in a random direction, following the road, mind reeling. He hopes it’s all a nightmare he’ll wake up from soon. That when he opens his eyes, he’ll be back in his room in the dorms and be surrounded by his butterflies.

His hopes are dashed when what he assumes is a police car from the emergency lights on top pulls over in front of him less than an hour later. An officer soon comes out of the vehicle, on what should be the wrong side.

“Hey man, are you okay?” He looks just as haggard as Harry feels. _Traumatized_ even. But his american accent is too jarring for Harry to feel any kind of kinship with him.

“Where- Where am I?”

“You’re in Marshall County.” Harry bland expression must be pretty telling because he continues unprompted. “Just outside of Glade?” He continues to stare, not wanting to be rude, but it’s not his fault if the words do not mean anything to him. “In Kentucky?”

“Do you mean in America?”

The officer’s eyes widen, as he probably registers Harry’s accent for the first time.

“Yeah man, in America. Fuck, this thing really messed you up… Do you remember anything?”

Harry shivers and shakes his head. He remembers the church he’s left behind, but he’d rather not think about it ever again.

“What… what thing?”

“Nobody’s sure. The world just went… crazy. But you clearly need a doctor. Did you see anyone else around?”

“I- I-” He’s seen plenty of people, but he’s got the feeling the officer is asking about anyone who’s actually _alive_.

Either because he understands what Harry cannot bring himself to say or maybe because one person in shock is enough to deal with, but the officer takes pity on him and just waves at him to get in the backseat.

“I’ll just call it in, have another car sent this way.”

Harry doesn’t reply. He’s pretty sure he’s not meant to.

Instead, he settles in the back of the car, minding his new appendages. Another day, he might have been insulted at having to sit in the same seat as common criminals, but today, he only feels relief.

Whatever happens next, at least that officer will be safe from him.

***

Dr Petterson doesn't approve of him leaving after being checked over and bandaged up, but with how busy the clinic is, he cannot afford to insist either.

But even if he doesn't stay, Harry accepts the offer of a change of clothing. He doubts the spare clothes will fit him as perfectly as his suit did, but at least they aren't covered in blood.

Locked in the bathroom, it's the first time he is in front of a mirror and clear-minded enough to take in his reflection.

The first thing he takes in is his wings of course. They're gorgeous, their green-ish blue colour vibrant. For a second, he's got a tiny flash of recognition, as if they remind him of _something_ , a flutter of a memory, but it's gone before he can put his finger on it.

But even that isn't enough to distract him from the confirmation of what he has started to suspect when he glanced down his scarred body after removing his jacket and shirt to get his shoulder checked out.

The last thing he truly remembers is being at Uni. But the familiar-looking stranger staring back at him in the mirror clearly hasn't been a student in a long time.

There are lines at the corner of his eyes, forehead and mouth where there was now before. As if he’s had a lifetime of laughing and frowning.

The curls in his hair seem tamer than they used to be, but that might be because of whatever product is in them. He’d be marvelling at how there isn’t a white hair in sight if not for the many he sees in his chest hair. Has he really become vain enough that he dyes his hair to look younger?

Considering how bloody _fit_ he is, it wouldn’t be too surprising. He’s not sure just how strong and how much endurance he has now, but one thing is for certain, it’s more than what he remembers ever being at twenty. He’s never really been one to exercice.

But these interrogations leave his mind when his gaze lands on a scar. And then a second. And a third. He stops counting after that, brushing trembling fingers against them, trying to figure out what could have left such marks on his body. Not that it matters in the end. However he got them, they paint a clear portrait of the man he’s become. One doesn’t need to be a genius to read the history of violence littered on his skin.

It gets harder to breath and he lets himself slide onto the tiled floor, forehead pressed against his knees. He thinks he could remember it all if he were to just try hard enough, but he’s simply not that brave. The mere idea of what he might have done is enough to bring him on the verge of a panic attack. He’s pretty sure actually remembering would break him. And who knows how dangerous that would make him.

So instead of focusing on the pounding in his head, he straightens up so that his chin can rest on top of his knees and opens his eyes to admire his wings. They’ve come up around him instinctively while he was freaking out and he trails careful fingers against their edges.

They’re sturdier than they looked like against the hard lines of his body in the mirror's reflection. Which shouldn’t come as a surprise. He’s supposed to be able to fly with them on short distances after all. They’d have to be strong enough to carry his weight.

As he examines them, he finally takes the time to identify his butterfly counterpart. _Papilio blumei_ , the peacock swallowtail. Or well, it’s his closest guess. They’re not exactly the right shape and the white dots at the edges are unheard of on the actual swallowtail. But some differences were to be expected, as soulmates’ wings always borrows traits from each other.

At least, his soulmates should also have butterfly wings. If they had the wings of a bird or a bat, his own would be way more weird. With his extensive knowledge in lepidopterology, it will be easy to figure out who is soulmate is when he meets them.

The bubble of excitement in his chest at the thought turns to lead as soon as he remembers that whoever that person his, they’re not really _his_ soulmate. They’re the soulmate of who he was before he lost his memories. And finding them would mean facing the man he had become.

He’s not sure he can do that.

He gets up from the floor, pointedly turning his back on the mirror and finally changes into the clothing Dr Petterson so kindly gave him. It’s high time he gets a move on. No matter how tempting it is to stay curled up on the floor and ignore the rest of the world.

Before he drops the bloodied suit in the trash, he ruffles through the pockets. He didn’t seem to have much on him, but anything would be better than nothing right now. When his fingers snagged against the seam of a sewed up inner pocket, he tries not to think too much about why he would need such a thing.

As long as he got his passport and some money, he’s not going to question anything. He’s dallied in the same place for too long and he feels an irrational dread slowly rise up his spine.

And if he also keeps the broken glasses, well, it’s his own bloody business.

***

Harry wanders through town for a while until he finds himself stopping in front of a motel. And if the place doesn’t look great, it surely beats sleeping in the streets.

He gets a room easily, only realising the insane amount of money he’s carrying on him at how the price barely puts a dent in it. He fears for a moment that the clerk will notice his moment of hesitation while he counts the right amount of bills, fears that he will notice his shocked expression and do… _something_.

But if he does notice, the clerk doesn’t even comment on it, just hands him the key and goes back to whatever it was he was doing when Harry first got in the lobby. Either the clerk really doesn’t care or he’s still wary from the latest events.

In any case, Harry’s grateful for his luck and he just turns on his feet with a mumbled thank you.

He gets into his room and, after locking the door and blocking it with the chair that was previously tucked under the small desk next to the television stand, nearly collapses into the bed. For a moment, he just stares at the chair. He’s barely noticed doing it at the time, the gesture practically instinctual, much like drawing the curtains to a close have been.

It’s weird but he cannot bring himself to do anything about it. He feels safer now, that’s what is important. No one can get to him and he cannot get to anyone.

And if he feels slightly jittery at the absence of some unknown familiar weight in his hand, he does his best to ignore it.

He focuses on breathing for a while, achieving a semblance of calm again. Freaking out at the tiniest change is getting somewhat exhausting.

Sitting up on the bed with his legs crossed, he takes all his meager possessions out. It’s time he really assess his situation.

First is the broken glasses. He still can’t figure out why he would not only own but also wear a pair when he’s got perfect vision as far as he can tell. In the end, since they raise more questions than they give answers, he just discard them on the nightstand.

He checks his wallet next. It’s obviously not the one he remembers owning, but it’s in the same style, just an unassuming wallet in dark leather. He counts the bills contained within and swears.

Nearly a thousand.

Why the hell would he need that kind of money? Sure, most of it was in his secret pocket before he transferred it when he changed clothing, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s never had that kind of money on his person before. It doesn’t matter that it’s american dollars, it’s still an insane amount.

Especially since he’s pretty sure he’s seen at least two credit cards in that wallet.

He gets them out to take a closer look at them and freezes when he spots a very peculiar detail.

Well as much as his name can be considered a detail.

He fishes the ID card out and grabs for his passport, a bad feeling creeping up on him.

When he reads the same name there than he did on his credit cards, he starts shaking and cannot seem to stop.

_Henry DeVile_.

In another life, it might have been him. DeVile _was_ his great-grandmother’s last name. And he wished time and time again that his parents had called him Henry instead of choosing Hardick.

But it’s one thing to wish for a different name and quite another to have a new one forced on oneself.

If he was reluctant to remembre who he was before, now he’s downright _terrified_. What kind of horror has he committed that he had to change his identity?

He throws the passport and wallet as far away from him as he can before lying back down on the mattress.

Again, his wings curl up around him and he wonders if his soulmate ever knew the real him.

Not just Henry DeVile, the bloodthirsty monster hiding underneath a gentleman suit, but Harry Hart, the boy whose only dream was to study butterflies.

Not that it matters anymore.

He’s alone now and he doesn’t plan on ever being found again.

The exhaustion catches up with him and he falls asleep thinking of his next steps for tomorrow. Never once he realises just how easily it is for him to come up with ways to disappear.

And when he wakes up from nauseating nightmares in the middle of the night, that incongruity is the last thing on his mind.

He just knows one thing for sure. He needs to run as far away as he can from that past he doesn’t remember.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the crazy day he's just had -- ending up at the police station, calling that number at the back of his medal, meeting Harry Hart, being brought into a _bloody manor_ to start training as a _spy_ \-- Eggsy didn't think it could become any more unbelievable than it already was.
> 
> Then he realises his wings are growing, which means he can add meeting his soulmate to the list of crazy things that happened.

If it wasn’t for Roxy, Eggsy would probably never have realised what day his wings started to grow.

But then again, who could blame him?

He had just had a a rather full day that had started on the wrong side of the table in an interrogation room and had ended in a dorm for super spies in training. Not to mention the completely wild chain of events that had brought him from point A to point B. Even for a movie that shite would have been too unbelievable.

So yeah, he hadn’t really thought about checking his back or why it might be slightly itchy.

But when Merlin finished chewing the candidates out for not working as a team and they all slowly trail out of the room, Roxy grabs him by the wrist with a little yelp of alarm and he can’t ignore it anymore.

“Eggsy! You’re hurt!”

He barely has time to ask her what she means because he seriously feels fine, that Merlin is backing them into the room again, checking him over with worry. For a bloke who tried to drown them not even ten minutes ago, he’s kind of over-reacting.

“His back, I think he might have cut himself,” Roxy points out helpfully.

With Merlin’s hands pushing on his shoulders to turn him around, he’s got very little choice but to do exactly that. For a bloke who dresses like a librarian, he’s deceptively strong.

As soon as he’s got his back on them, he can feel himself grow tense even if he tries really hard not to. After a lifetime of not really trusting anyone, it’s not exactly easy to be kind of vulnerable around people who are basically strangers.

But either because he understands or maybe just because he’s a decent bloke, Merlin doesn’t continue touching him once he’s turned around.

“Ah. I think I know what it is.” He doesn’t sound overly concerned, so Eggsy figures it can’t be that bad. “I’m going to put a bit of pressure on it, tell me if it hurts.”

He braces himself for the pain, but nothing comes when Merlin pushes gently against the skin.

“So? Does it hurt?”

“Erm, no? I mean, it was kinda itchy, but that’s about it.”

“Well that’s to be expected, yes. Congratulations Eggsy, your wings are growing.”

“Shut up!” He twists around to try and see, but the angle is too awkward. He thinks he sees what looks like the beginning of two perpendicular bruises, but he has to look away before he pulls something. He’ll have to start working on his flexibility again if he can’t do something so simple for long.

He turns around to face Merlin and Roxy, dread crawling up his spine when he spots the latter’s weird expression. None of the other recruits had their wings. Harry didn’t either. Maybe there’s something against agents with soulmates? Though that would have disqualified his father before he could have even started. Or maybe it’s _because_ of his father if they made it a rule?

Thankfully, before his mind can run away from him any further, Merlin starts pushing them both out of the room.

“Now that we’ve ascertain you’re in no risk of dying, I’d suggest you get some rest. Training is only going to get harder.”

Another time, Eggsy would have asked what the fuck can be harder than _death_ , but Roxy is still looking kinda pale.

He nudges her gently with his elbow to get her attention and while she doesn’t jump or anything, it’s clear he’s startled her out of her thoughts. “You okay?”

She smiles, but it’s obvious her heart isn’t into it. “Yeah, I’m good… It’s just… Long story.”

He doesn’t push, because clearly she doesn’t want to talk and he might be a lot of things, but he’s not a dick.

Her smile turns slightly more genuine and he nudges her again, this time in silent solidarity. He’s not here to make friends, but she truly seems alright. Better than the other guys at least and he gets the feeling neither of them will get very far on their own. An alliance with her doesn’t sound half bad.

They’re nearly at the end of the corridor when Merlin calls out to him again.

“Oh, and Eggsy? Whoever your soulmate is, judging by the current state of your wings, you met them sometime this morning.”

Merlin’s face is carefully blank and so Eggsy only nods before following Roxy towards their new rooms for the night.

Even if he has doubts as to whom his soulmate might be, now is clearly not the right time to think about it. He’s chosen this path and for once, nothing will stop him from seeing it through.

Anyway, if they’re really supposed to complete each other, his soulmate will understand.

***

Later, Eggsy won’t even be able to tell how he learned that Harry got hurt. He won’t even remember what he had been doing at the time.

Studying, trying to train JB, a test of some sort… Who cares?

What he’ll remember is the pungent smell of antiseptic as he steps into the infirmary and seeing Harry lying unconscious on a bed.

He’s not even aware he’s moving until Merlin twists around abruptly and stops him from getting any closer with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Eggsy…”

“Is he okay?” It’s a stupid question, but he’s not thinking entirely straight right now.

“He’s in a coma,” Merlin isn’t gentle, not exactly, but it’s definitely different than when he’s ordering the recruits around.

“But he’ll be fine, right?”

“We don’t know lad.”

He bites his lower lip to stops himself from asking just how the fuck they don’t know. Getting angry won’t help him. Won’t help Harry.

Merlin squeezes his shoulder before letting go.

“I’d tell you more, but the very little we do know isn’t actually helping us figuring this out.”

He takes a deep breath and nods. It sucks, but he understands the importance of confidentiality, especially for spies. He’s lucky Merlin hasn’t simply kicked him out of the infirmary as soon as he walked in.

“Can I- can I stay for a bit?”

Merlin looks conflicted, his gaze landing somewhere slightly above his shoulder, exactly where Eggsy know his still wrinkled wings are visible. He sighs and Eggsy thinks that this is it and he’ll get sent away. So he’s genuinely surprised when Merlin acquiesces.

“You got until I finish writing up his chart.”

Eggsy doesn’t lose time thanking him, just goes to sit on the edge of the mattress. Anyway, he’s got the feeling Merlin wouldn’t really appreciate it.

Up close like this, it’s kinda hard looking at Harry. He looks so… _still_. Too still. And against the paleness of his skin, the scratches and bruises stand out painfully clear. But Eggsy forces himself to continue to look.

This is one of the realities of the path he’s chosen to travel. Hiding from the truth won’t help him in the long run.

As he debates whether he should hold Harry’s hand or not, he finally realises that what he had assumed was darker bedding behind Harry is in fact his wings.

It’s obvious from their size that they are still in the process of growing. Which means he’s only had them for a few days at most.

It doesn’t come as a surprise. Sure, Eggsy’s soulmate could have been any number of people he saw the same morning he met Harry, but Harry was the only who had made sense.

The only one he could remember.

Just when he gathers the courage to grasp Harry’s hand and give it a gentle squeeze, Merlin clears his throat as he sets the chart down. With a pang, he lets go. It’s the last thing he wants to do, but he doesn’t want to make Merlin regret giving him those precious minutes.

The other man comes around the other side of the bed and fusses with the blankets for a moment. It could be a nervous gesture, but there’s something definitely careful about him. _Gentle_. If Eggsy had had any doubts that those two were friends, he doesn’t have them anymore.

“It’s probably better if you don’t come back again lad.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but a sharp look makes him forget what he was about to say.

“Your training is hard enough. Losing your time in here won’t do you any favor. In fact, it could work against you if some people came to the wrong conclusions.”

He doesn’t need to look or gestures at either of their wings for Eggsy to get what he’s implying.

“If you don’t think that’s something you can do, I suggest you reconsider why you’re here and if it is really worth it. Harry has accepted the risks long ago and does not regret it. But it doesn’t change the fact that life as a spy is dangerous.”

It takes a beat or two before Eggsy realises Merlin is waiting for an answer. Well, if he was trying to scare him off of Kingsman or Harry with that ersatz shovel talk, he’ll be disappointed.

“Fucking _life_ is dangerous. Asking anyone not to live it the way they want it would be the dumbest shite ever.”

For a nano-second, Merlin cracks the tiniest of smile. Then, he goes back to his severe hard-to-read expression.

But it’s too late now. Eggsy has figured him out.

That man obviously cares and he cares deeply at that.

You’ve just got to earn it first.

Which is just as good. Eggsy can do that. He’s got a lot to prove.

To Merlin sure and also to Harry once he wakes up.

But more importantly, he’s coming to understand that he's got a lot to prove to himself.

It’s time he finally does just that.

***

Martinis are, it turns out, pretty great.

Or maybe it’s just that he’s _that_ drunk. Or, rather, not really drunk, but definitely more than tipsy.

Sloshed?

Anyway, Eggsy is at that point where everything feels nicely fuzzy, where his limbs are somewhat heavy with a pleasant laziness and he just wants to be close to whomever he’s with.

And he doesn’t mean ‘close’ as in shagging them. Or well. He wouldn’t mind the shagging, but he doesn’t go out of his way to get there.

No, by ‘close’, he just means _close_.

Cuddling? Yeah, that sounds right. He wants to cuddle.

He’s not about to ask Harry to do that though, because Eggsy’s a gentleman or something. Trying to be one? Well, _Harry_ ’s one in any cases.

Plus that’d be weird. Probably.

What they’re doing already is nice enough. Just sitting on a sinfully comfortable couch, sipping their last martinis of the night -- Harry insisted they didn’t make more after that one -- shoulders pressed close together, wings somewhat entangled…

Yeah, it doesn’t beat cuddling, but it’s an acceptable substitute.

And by now, he’s lost enough inhibitions to start talking about what has been at the back of his mind for months now. Since he’s find his soulmate.

“So were you still waiting?” They’ve been taking turn asking each other questions since they settled on the couch. If anyone had told Eggsy that this is how he would get to know his soulmate, he would have thought it was supper lame, except, it’s anything but. It’s… comfortable is what it is. Safe. And after the craziness of the last few days -- Harry waking up, being the one to find a lead in a current case, the ‘chutes test, the loyalty test -- safe is good. “Or like, have you been waiting at all?” 

Even to himself, he’s not sure he’s making any sense, but Harry still understands what is being asked. Maybe he’s been wondering about the same things since he woke up from his coma.

“Well, truthfully, no and yes.” There is a beat of silence and Eggsy is about to change subject cause he’s not so far gone that he can’t feel the mood slowly turning awkward, but apparently Harry just needed some time to gather his thoughts. “I’ve always been one to think that soulmates found each other when the right time came. So considering how old I am, I had made my peace with the fact that I would live the rest of my life alone.”

“That’s… sensible I guess.” And sad in a way. Not that Eggsy believes you absolutely need a soulmate to be happy. Some people loathes the idea of soulmates. And even finding your soulmate isn’t a guarantee for a happy ending. Look at his mum. But Harry clearly had been open to the idea. Waiting for him. It’s a shame he had to wait so long.

Harry chuckles, self-deprecating. “I don’t know if I would say that. At least, it wasn’t always the case. For a long time, I’ve just been… angry at my fate.”

“Would you have liked it better if we had gotten our wings when we really first met when I was a kid?”

It’s commonly known that soulmates’ wings start growing after the first meeting. It’s also commonly known that it’s not quite right.

Both soulmates also have to be adult at the time of the meeting. The scientific explanation is that the body doesn’t start producing the right hormones until it’s reached full maturity or something. Which, sure, makes sense. If you asked Eggsy though, it’s a simple question of common sense. How the fuck can a kid who doesn’t even know themselves yet can be someone else’s soulmate?

Thankfully Harry seems to be agreeing with him on that one cause he pushes away, something like disgust in his eyes.

“No, I would not have preferred it. Without even getting into how… _predatory_ that would have been, even if you had been the same age you are today, I simply wouldn’t have been in the right frame of mind. I would have been the complete opposite of the dependable partner a soulmate is supposed to be. Not because I am a spy, but simply because I was a right _tit_ at the time.”

Eggsy nods and Harry seems to calm down a little. Not that Eggsy blames him for getting defensive. He really wasn’t insinuating anything with that question, but with hindsight, it was really poorly phrased.

Thankfully, there doesn’t seem to be any hard feelings because when Eggsy tentatively leans back against him, Harry not only lets him do it, but also sneaks an arm behind his back so he’s kind of holding him. It’s nice. Warm. Eggsy could get used to it.

“But as I said, yes. I was waiting at first. It’s one of the reason I went to Uni to study lepidoptery.”

“Lepi-what?” Eggsy will give that one a proper try when he’s sober. Right now, he’s not even going to make an attempt.

“Lepidoptery. It’s the study of butterflies and moths. I thought that it would help me figure out who my soulmate was if I just knew what our insect counterparts were and what aspects we borrowed from each other.”

“How did you know we’d both have butterfly wings?”

“Oh, I could have been wrong, I was… quite young when I set my sights on my dream career. I admit I wasn’t the most logical at the time. But when I got older, I figured it was still a safe assumption to make about my wings since both my parents were butterflies too. They’re what started it all truth be told. I was quite fascinated by their wings when I was a child.”

“That's sweet.”

Eggsy tries to imagine it, a young Harry Hart staring at his parents wings with the same attention he does to most things now. Imagine how in a childish impulse similar to the one Eggsy got when he decided he'd become an Olympic gymnast after watching his first games on the telly, that this was what he wanted to do always. It's adorable

Harry snorts. “Try naive, that's more like it.”

Eggsy shakes his head, only now realising that somehow, he's come to lean it against Harry's shoulder. Which means the fantastic scent currently hitting his nose must be Harry's cologne. But it's not enough to completely derail him from the point he wants to make.

“No, I meant it. It's sweet. A bit unexpected though.”

“Why? You thought I would have wanted to be James Bond?”

“You coulda have. Me, I wanted to be Indiana Jones.” He proclaims it without an ounce of shame, because why should he be ashamed? He had been something like five at the time.

Harry laughs at the revelation, which had been kind of Eggsy’s goal. He pushes back a bit to look at him, to take him in when he’s not so guarded. He doesn’t mind that Harry doesn’t ever seem to switch off even in his own home, but it’s nice to get to see him relax just a bit.

He raises a hand with half a mind to cup Harry’s cheek and drag him into a kiss, but instead he lets his fingers trail over his wing. Even if they are soulmates, it is wildly inappropriate for him to touch them without asking first, but he’s been tempted since he opened his eyes after thinking he had died on the train tracks only to see Harry standing above him, blue wings framing him like some kind of angel.

Not that Eggsy is under any illusion that Harry is anything like an angel. Neither of them are and it’s just as good.

If his touch is unwelcomed, Harry is making a bad job letting him know. He’s stopped laughing, but his eyes are still closed, and if he was a cat, he’d probably be purring in contentment right now. But since he’s not, he’s just pressing his wing into his hand.

“So which butterflies are we?” It doesn’t cross his mind that maybe Harry doesn’t know. Sure, he’s not become who he thought he’d be, but he said he had gone to Uni to study. And judging by the framed butterflies he’s seen around the house, he’s surely picked up a few things during his time.

“Mine is the _Papilio blumei_. More commonly known as the peacock swallowtail.”

He tries, Eggsy really does, but he can’t quite suppress his snort even if he refrains from just dissolving into giggles. Harry rolls his eyes, but he looks more fond than anything.

“No need to try and spare my feelings Eggsy, you can laugh. At my age, I am well aware of all my faults. Vanity is at the very top of that list.”

A few chuckles escapes him, but Eggsy shakes his head. “Bruv, if I stay as fit as you are when I get to your age, I’d be pretty fucking vain too.”

“Well thank you, dear boy,” Harry honest-to-god _preens_ under the compliment and this is what makes Eggsy lose it in the end. The man is bloody _shameless_ and Eggsy bloody _loves_ it.

Somehow while he was laughing, he’s slid even closer to Harry than he was before. Not quite lying on him, but he’s not quite sitting on his own arse either. Another time, it might have made him feel a bit self-conscious, but it’s pretty hard to feel any kind of awkwardness when he’s got one of Harry’s arms holding him around the waist and one of his hand gently exploring one of his wing.

“And what’s mine?” He asks when he’s finally caught his breath again.

“The _Danaus plexippus_. Otherwise known as the Monarch.”

Eggsy grimaces. “Well, mine doesn’t fit as much as yours. Ain’t nowhere near close monarchy.”

“On the contrary, I rather think it does. Amongst other thing, a monarch is supposed to be inspiring after all. And you are that and so much more Eggsy.”

For several interminable seconds, Eggsy can only stare at Harry, feeling a blush creep onto his cheeks. While he’s no stranger to compliments, the one he gets usually are about how he looks. And they usually don’t come from people the likes of Harry bloody Hart.

In the end, he presses his face against Harry’s shoulder to hide his embarrassment, forever grateful when the other man doesn’t say anything else and simply pulls him impossibly closer without having Eggsy actually be laying on top of him.

“Your turn,” he mumbles after a while, ignoring how his lips brush against the skin of Harry’s throat thanks to their current position. “You’ve let me asked more than my share. What’s your next question?”

It takes a long time before Harry breaks the silence again. Eggsy would believe he’s fallen asleep, but for the way his fingers are still carefully brushing against his wings.

“How did you get your name? ‘Eggsy’, I mean.”

If he wasn’t already hiding in the crook of Harry’s neck, he’d probably have flown away. But he’s just too comfortable where he is, so instead he groans.

“Shite, Harry, no. It’s a boring and stupid story. You don’t really want to hear it.”

“Oh, but I really do.” Eggsy doesn’t need to see him to know Harry won’t be giving up. “Tell you what, if you tell me the story behind your name, I’ll tell you my real name.”

At the words, he pushes away from Harry to stare at him, trying to figure out if he’s being honest or not. As far as he knows, ‘Harry’ is his real name. But then again, he’s also a fucking spy. It would make sense he’s got another identity or something. And now, Eggsy’s dying to know.

Shite.

Judging by Harry’s attempt at looking innocent, the other man knows he’s piqued his curiosity and that he’ll get his answer. Eggsy groans again as he lies back down.

“Fine. Deal. But you better not be messing with me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, dear boy.”

Eggsy huffs, doubtful. But then Harry’s fingers come to play at the short hair at the nape of his neck and he lets himself be distracted. Harry’s got some pretty skillful fingers.

He starts the familiar story he’s not told anyone for years now, finding that a smile comes easily to his lips now, even if it involves one of the very few memories he has of his father. He even laughs at one point, the sound echoed by Harry and he thinks that yeah, he was wrong after all.

Cuddling with Harry definitely isn’t weird.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been three weeks since V-day.
> 
> Which means it's been three weeks since Eggsy failed the dog test. Three weeks since he picked that terrible fight with Harry.
> 
> Three weeks since his soulmate died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I know this was supposed to be 3 chapters but well... this is what happens when you just write as you go along without a plan. You just keep on adding stuff even if you really shouldn't for your own sanity.
> 
> But is anyone really complaining? :p

It's been three weeks since V-day.

Which means it's been three weeks since Eggsy failed the dog test. Three weeks since he picked that terrible fight with Harry.

Three weeks since his soulmate died.

And as terrible as that might sound, Eggsy has been mostly fine.

Sure, there was that kind of embarrassing moment with Tilde when he had gone and opened up her cell after dealing with Valentine. He hadn't wanted to let her imprisoned for who knew how long and Merlin hadn't tried to talk him out of it. But that also meant that she was right there in front of him as he came crashing down his adrenaline rush.

As soon as the door had opened, she had taken one look at him before dragging him in her arms and he had broken down crying for a good while in her lap.

She hadn't asked and he hadn't said anything, not that she had needed him to in order to guess what had happened.

Tilde is a smart woman, as well as a kind one. Sweden is very lucky to have her.

But besides that unguarded moment, he's been doing okay. Has kept himself busy.

He's not a Knight, not yet, but Merlin has told him just a few days ago that it won't be long now. He just wanted to make sure that whatever he decided during his interim as Arthur wouldn't be overturned once a new King would be elected by the Table.

Though apparently he shouldn't have worried because a few of the Knights have been asking him why Eggsy doesn't have a title yet. If he's got their approval, whoever is next appointed Arthur would be a fool to try and send him home. The Knights are a tight-knit group and very protective of each other. Even more so now that their number has dwindled down after V-Day.

So even if he’s not doing anything like infiltrating an secret base and fighting his way out of it, he’s still being useful. Fatalities haven’t been high within Kingsman, but most everyone has been injured in some way. Any help at all is welcomed and Eggsy appreciates the distraction.

It’s hard, honest work that leaves him exhausted enough for him to usually pas out as soon as his head hit the pillow. And if he gets up in the middle of the night after waking up in a cold sweat from a nightmare, well, no one mentions it. That just means he fits right in.

Kingsman never sleeps after all.

He’s come to learn that the well-stocked kitchen helps a lot for that.

He has been slowly brewing his way through all the variety of tea available, trying out a new brand every time he’s gotten up before sunrise. It’s a testament to just how many there is in the cabinets rather than to the quality of his sleep that he’s not gotten through even half of it yet.

“Do you have enough in there for another cup?” If he doesn’t jump when Percival comes to lean against the counter besides him, it’s only because the Knight has been kind enough to make some noise as he stepped into the kitchen.

“Sure. Can’t sleep?”

Percival hums his confirmation before they both settle into a companionable silence.

Except for Roxy, Percy is definitely his favourite Knight.

Part of it is because, thanks to his broken arm, the older man has been doing support work too and has taken upon him to show Eggsy the ropes. Whether it’s because Eggsy’s Roxy’s friend or because Percy has taken a shine on him, he isn’t sure, but he’s grateful anyway.

For longer than he can remember, he has to do everything on his own, has had to be self-reliant. But since he’s started training, he’s gotten a taste of what it feels like to accept help when he needs it. With Roxy on missions after mission, Merlin busy running _everything_ and Harry… gone, he’s glad Percival thinks he’s worth his time.

The other part of why he likes Percival’s company so much is simple enough. He feels a certain kinship with him.

Percival has lost his soulmate too. And even if Eggsy would never compare their pains, there is a wordless understanding between them.

“Are they hurting you at all?” Percival asks as they sit down at one of the table once their tea is ready. He doesn’t need to specify what he’s talking about.

Eggsy glances at his wings before shaking his head. “No. But then again, they’re not supposed to.”

The process of losing your wings if your soulmate ever dies is a long one, but it’s supposed to be a painless one. They’ll molt, they’ll drooped, they’ll shrivel, they’ll whither… Until they ultimately fall off.

Some people prefer to have them removed instead of waiting for convenience’s sake. Percival has not. The only reason he’s down one wing is because the other got ripped out when he was fighting for his life under the signal from Valentine’s chips.

Percy chuckles, but it’s a humorless sound.

“You’re right, the general consensus is that they shouldn’t hurt. There’s no reason why they should after all. Whatever makes them work doesn’t once your soulmate dies. But the thing is, it’s a consensus reached by people who haven’t lost their soulmates. I knew James was dead before Merlin told me.”

His expression doesn’t change at all, but Eggsy would have to be blind not to see the heartbreak in his eyes. He dares to reach out across the table and gives his arm a gentle squeeze, something he’d never have done three weeks ago. But he’s come to learn that no matter how stoic the man is and how selective he is about the people he lets in, he’s just as human as the rest of them.

He’s too proud to ask for it, but he’ll never turn up his nose on comfort. Eggsy can respect that.

“I’m sorry.” It’s empty words and he knows it. He knows it more keenly than anyone else, but it’s also all that he’s got. And sometimes, it’s enough.

“It’s okay,” Percival smiles wanly, “we both knew it was only a question of time before either of our luck ran out.”

Eggsy lets his hand right where it is and Percival doesn’t shake him off.

It’s a while before Eggsy breaks the silence again.

“I don’t… I don’t feel anything.” He bites his lower lip, hesitant to say more. But in the end, he decides to go all in. Who else is he going to speak about this with? “It’s not just the wings. I seriously… I haven’t felt anything for a while really.”

He’s not looking at Percival anymore, can’t look at him, so instead he’s staring at his hand that is still on his arm. It doesn’t stop him from startling when Percy lies his other hand on top of his and links their fingers together.

He glances up, but unlike what he was fearing, there’s no trace of judgment or disgust on Percival’s face.

“So you don’t feel… sad?”

“Well I miss him, but…” Eggsy shrugs. It’s something distant, as if the feeling is not his own.

“What about happy?”

He shakes his head. “Not even a little bit.

Sure there’s not been much to be happy about, but he should probably have felt something like that when his mum had accepted to leave Dean and move into the flat Eggsy isn’t using with his baby sister. He had smiled then, but it was only so his mum wouldn’t worry about him.

“Angry?”

He shakes his head again. He should be. That’s what he used to always be before. Now though, thinking about it just leaves him exhausted.

“Scared?”

“Sometimes when I wake up.” He doesn’t mention the nightmares. He doesn’t have to.

Percival gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “Eggsy, right now, it seems like you’re just going through the motions. You’re not feeling anything because you don’t let yourself feel anything. You’ve numb yourself.”

“I haven’t done anything.” Even to his own ears, he sounds like a petulant child and Percival rolls his eyes, looking highly unimpressed.

“You might not have realised it. It’s a defense mechanism.” Eggsy doesn’t know if he’s right, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s flooded with a distant relief at the thought that maybe he’s not an uncaring monster. “It took me some time before I snapped out of it after James. You should really think about making an appointment with Vivian.”

The fact that he doesn’t insist on it, that he’s willing to let it be Eggsy’s decision entirely is the only reason why he even contemplates making an appointment with Kingsman’s resident psychologist.

They stay like that for a long time, holding hands in silence, not even touching their cooling tea in front of them.

Then Percival breaks the silence again and Eggsy would joke that the other man is feeling positively chatty today if it wasn’t for the subject he keeps bringing up.

“It’s like they haven’t changed at all.”

He’s not wrong. Eggsy avoids looking at his wings as much as he can, but he still catches his reflection sometimes. They haven’t drooped nor have they withered. It feels like he could take flight at any time even if he’s not brave enough to test it.

“Blue and orange. It’s an unusual combination isn’t it?”

“Unheard of, or so I’ve been told. My blue comes- came- from… him.” Maybe Percival was onto something with his numbness theory. He hasn’t been able to say Harry’s name out loud for a while and he’s not had that much luck just thinking it either.

“Hmm. James’ feathers fell after only a couple of days.”

Eggsy never saw them, but Roxy told him that Percival had the most beautiful covert feathers on his hawk wings. They hadn’t been great for camouflage, but Percy had only ever been proud of his rainbows feathers he had gotten from James’ lorikeet wings.

Percival is still staring past his shoulders at his wings and if it had been anyone but him, Eggsy would probably grow self-conscious. But it _is_ Percival and they might not be soulmates, but it doesn’t change the fact that they’ll always share something.

At least, that’s what he thinks until Percival speaks again.

“Eggsy… I think- I think maybe… Maybe Harry isn’t as dead as we think he is.”

*

Merlin is glaring at Percival and Eggsy would feel bad about it, except they don’t really have time to waste.

“He was shot. In the head. As much as I’d wish otherwise, not even Harry can survive that.”

Eggsy had said pretty much the same to Percival. Just way more angrily and with a lot more swearing involved. Apparently, there is nothing like outrageous affront to start feeling again.

But just like earlier, Percival raises the same valid point.

“He was shot in the _glasses_. And you know better than I do how resilient you make them. And since we haven’t retrieved his body, there’s no way to know for sure.”

“We don’t have the resources to-”

Percival holds his hands up in a calming gesture before Merlin can lose his temper completely. “It wasn’t a reproach. I agreed with the decision entirely. But in lights of recent developments, or lack thereof,” there, he waves meaningfully at Eggsy’s healthy wings, “I think we should revise our stance.”

Merlin doesn’t say anything for a long time, his expression so utterly closed off that Eggsy is sure that they’re wasting their breath.

“Why wouldn’t he have contacted us? Or used any of his cards?”

“Because as far as he knows, Kingsman has betrayed him. I’d fake my death too if Chester had sent me to die. And he’s not an idiot. We all know you’re running a trace on our cards at all time. He’ll be using cash.”

Every word is chipping at Merlin’s impassive mask. But Eggsy isn’t sure if it’s that much better. He doesn’t want anyone to feel the kind of guilt he can plainly read in Merlin’s eyes.

The handler sighs and sinks into the nearest chair, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose.

“We still don’t have the resources to waste on what is probably a wild goose chase.” He grimaces as soon as he says it and looks at Eggsy apologetically, but Eggsy shrugs. He’s… cautiously hopeful sure, but he’s not delusional either.

“I’m not Kingsman, not really. Nothing’s stopping _me_ from going.”

“Eggsy…” Merlin doesn’t more, but it’s certainly not from a lack of things to say.

“I think… No. I _know_ I need to do this. Even if… Even if he’s really dead. I need to be sure.”

“You don’t even have a suit anymore,” it’s a weak protest and they all know it.

“I’m pretty sure I don’t need it. And if I ever think I do, I’ll call for back-up, yeah?”

Merlin sighs again, but in the end, he nods.

He looks old, but there’s a steel to him that’s oddly comforting. It feels like no matter what life throws their way, Merlin will weather it.

Eggsy had forgotten how it felt to have constants in his life.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry believes he's managed to escape his past, right until he goes to work only to find that his past is already waiting for him there.

Harry stayed at the motel for a couple of days before finding something better.

Or rather, something better found him.

At the time, he had only walked into the bar to get a pint. It might not have been the smartest move, but he had figured that after everything, he had deserved something nice. Or, if not exactly nice, at least better than staring at the same four walls.

He hadn’t planned on being noticed at all, but there had been an far from sober individual who couldn’t get a clue even after the lady had said ‘no’ multiple time and one thing leading to another, he had had the drunk man caught in a firm hold and was calmly insisting he leaves the premises without causing more of scene.

The man hadn’t been so far gone not to realise the wisdom of Harry’s suggestion and had left without much fuss once his arm had been released.

The owner of the establishment had apparently been impressed by Harry’s swift dealing of the situation and after offering him another drink on the house, had also offered him a job. Bouncer wasn’t really glamorous and the pay was absolute shit, but it came with a small room above the bar if he wanted it and an employer who didn’t ask any questions.

He might not remember any of it, but Harry was absolutely certain he had done much worse in his life. If anything, it helped him feel in control. If he wasn’t going in frenzied rage anytime there was an unruly patron to deal with, there might be some hope for him yet.

Slowly, Harry was finding a routine that worked for him. His new neighborhood was far from the classiest, but he felt relatively safe. As long as he didn’t actively go looking for trouble, he was left well enough alone. And trouble was the last thing he wanted.

He had even found some suits in a little thrift shop on one of his many walk. They were far from perfection, either a bit too baggy or a bit to tight, but he felt comfortable in them anyway, more so than in his borrowed clothes. They had started to smell rather bad anyway.

And if it allows him to carry his broken glasses on him at all time, well, it’s still his own bloody business.

*

When he walks into the bar that night, there’s already a few patrons nursing their drinks. The place is never really busy, but it’s usually always a good mix between a few regulars and some drifters he won’t see ever again.

No one quite as young as the young man sitting alone at the table in the back though. He wouldn’t have given him more than a cursory glance, but his bright orange shirt and wings captures his gaze. The door closes behind him and he freezes in place when he notices the blue-green spots on the young man’s monarch wings.

It’s as if someone has added some details that are more common on the peacock swallowtail on his wings. Or like someone swapped details from his wings with Harry’s. Like maybe they’re soulmates.

He’s stood there too long and the young man looks up from his pint to meet his gaze, his expression brightening with obvious recognition.

“Harry!”

Whatever spell that had fallen on him is broken as the young man gets up from his seat and Harry just turns around and leaves before he can think it through.

Now that he’s outside, he has nowhere to go. The only way he can get to his room is from within the bar and he can’t go back without having to face the familiar young man. His only option is to try and lose him through the neighborhood.

He hears the door open and he’s about to start running but he’s too slow and he’s grabbed by the sleeve. It’s easy to shake the hold off of him, but he loses his momentum and finds himself turning around.

The young man who had seemed so… _radiant_ inside, only seems _angry_ now and Harry would be scared of him if he didn’t know it would take him less than a minute to get him in a chokehold.

He’d prefer not knowing how easy it would be to do so. He’d rather be scared of the not-really-a-stranger instead of being terrified of himself.

Maybe it’s not too late to run after all.

“Harry Hart, I swear to fucking _God_ , if you try running away from me, I’ll only call you _Hardick_ from now on. And I’ll make sure everyone else does the fucking same.”

The words take a short while to register and if he was tense before, it’s nothing compared to how he is now.

 _No one_ should know that name.

As far as anyone knows, his parents plainly named him _Harry_. He’s made sure that no one would ever think otherwise when they move to London when he was a teenager. He’s had had enough jokes about his name to last a _lifetime_.

Except that’s not entirely true is it?

_“Hardick. My real name. It’s Hardick.”_

_An arched eyebrow, suspicion at his best. “Why are you telling me?”_

_“Because I trust you. And I want you to know I won’t ever reveal yours.”_

_“You are such a sap, Hart.”_

_“And you’re far too serious Merlin.”_

He told Merlin a long time ago. It’s one of the things that cemented their friendship back when it seemed like it was them against all the old fuddy-duddies at Kingsman.

“What did you say?” What he really wants to ask is what the _fuck_ is Kingsman, but apparently his tongue has other ideas.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, you've sworn me to secrecy, it was a pact among gentlemen and blabla fucking bla. But you're being a dick, so screw you.” The young man crosses his arms defensively and Harry is nearly overcome with the urge to take him in his arms and offer him the comfort he so obviously needs.

But he's finally noticed his rather well-defined musculature and he's not so sure anymore he'd win a fight against the man so easily.

“No, I meant my name. You know my name. My _real_ name. You know _me_.”

“Of course I do.” He seems insulted now. “You’re Harry fucking Hart, the bloody posh twat who fucking stuffed his dog and put him in the loo when he died cause you couldn’t bear not seeing him anymore.”

He’s never had a dog because his father had been too allergic.

But his father had been dead for years when he got Mr Pickle.

_“Seriously Harry, couldn’t you have just buried him like a normal person?” Merlin whines from the floor, staring at the newly taxidermied Mr Pickle._

_He takes a swig from the bottle of whiskey, wincing when it feels like Mr Pickle is silently judging him with his sad eyes. While he takes offense at Merlin’s implication that he’s not normal, his friend maybe has some kind of point. The living room might not be the best place for Mr Pickle._

_“What the fuck Galahad?” It’s the first thing Percival tells him after coming back from his bathroom and Harry decides to just ignore it. If the new Knight is weirded by a mere stuffed dog, he won’t last very long in the spy world._

_“You shot your dog and had it stuffed? You fucking freak.” Eggsy’s words would hurt more if Harry wasn’t so incensed already._

He had always believed that no one would understand why he had chosen as he had to for Mr Pickle. Even his bloody soulmate hadn’t seem to get that he couldn’t simply just… let go of the dog who had stuck with him and made his life just that much happier for so many years.

But Eggsy _had_ understood. He’d just been lashing out at the time, much like Harry had been.

Unaware of everything that was going through Harry’s mind, Eggsy keeps on talking.

“You’re the bloody peacock who whipped the floor with my stepfather’s dogs just to teach them a lesson in good manners.” He’s clearly trying to look exasperated, but there is a fond quirk at his lips. “Didn’t really work by the way. And then you bloody bugged me to make sure I wouldn’t grass on you.”

It is true. He had bugged Eggsy to make sure he would keep the secret. But that had not been the only reason. And while he didn’t think he had to justify himself, he simply couldn’t stand how all traces of a smile had left his face.

“I did. And you’re right, I had to make sure you wouldn’t reveal anything about Kingsman to anyone. But… I also wanted to make sure you wouldn’t get hurt. I had failed you once already, I didn’t want to fail you again.”

Eggsy smiles, bashful and takes a step closer.

“You didn’t fail me Harry. I was a kid and I had my mom. There wasn’t much more you could have done if she didn’t want you around.”

This is _absolution_. Harry knows it, _feels_ it to the marrow of his very bones. He’s just not entirely sure why he feels so much guilt.

One second it feels like he remembers everything, another it’s like he knows even less than when he woke up on the hard pavement of that cursed church.

“And you know… I think I had figured that out already after we had that talk.” He chuckles, a quiet disbelieving sound and Harry doesn’t think he’s ever heard something more lovely. “Shite. You know if it had been up to me, we’d have shagged the whole twenty-four hours? And I wouldn’t have regretted a minute of it. But nope, we talked instead. And I told you things I never told anyone before. Never wanted to tell anyone. And it sounds so silly, but the fact that you opened up too meant the world to me. More than any good dicking would have anyway.”

_The taste of martini on his tongue. A warm weight pressed against his side. Bearing his soul with the conviction that he’ll not get judged for any of it._

_Tucking his soulmate in bed in the early hours of the morning. Being certain that he’d be welcomed to lie down next to him. Going back to his own room instead._

_It wasn’t time yet. Soulmate or no soulmate, Harry is in a position of authority over him at the moment. It would do them both a disservice to start anything before Eggsy becomes a Knight on his own right._

_Which doesn’t mean Harry can’t spoil him in the meantime._

“I made you breakfast.” That memory comes as a revelation. He’s still confused as all hell, but he’s got one certainty now. No monster would have gone to all the trouble he went through that morning just to make sure his soulmate knew without a doubt how much Harry appreciates him. That even if all they ever did was talked, it meant everything to him.

 _Eggsy_ meant everything to him.

“Yep,” Eggsy confirms with a chipper nod, “and it was the best breakfast I had in fucking ever. So, yes I know you.” It takes a moment before Harry remembers what prompted all this. “Or at least, I know _some_ of you. Enough that I can't understand why the fuck you would let me- let _us_ believe you were dead.”

He looks angry again and Harry is the one to take a step closer this time, reaching hesitantly to cup his cheek in his hand.

“I- I had forgotten.” He smiles sheepishly, because it’s a rather piss-poor excuse. “I was _scared_.” He’s got the feeling that it’s an admission he’ll be ashamed of once his mind settles down again. Right now though, he doesn’t fucking care, not when Eggsy leans into his touch. “I woke up and I couldn’t remember anything and all I knew was that I had become a monster. I didn’t want to remember.”

Eggsy pushes away from him, his expression one of complete horror. For a moment Harry thinks he might have made a terrible mistake. But he shouldn’t have worried.

“Shite, Harry, what? Did you just remember everything like… right now?” He looks like he might be sick, but he also steps properly into Harry’s space, looking as if he’s ready to fight the whole world if he needs to just to protect him. It’s the most endearing thing Harry has ever seen, even if it’s completely unnecessary

“I’m afraid so. Things are still a confusing mess. But I know one thing for certain.” If his soulmate is such a remarkable young man, it stands to reason that he’s got nothing to fear about the man he’s become himself. With Eggsy standing in front of him, that much is clear. “I’m so proud of you Eggsy.”

Before he realises what is happening, Eggsy has all but thrown himself against him, a broken off sound muffled against his shoulder. There’s only one thing he can do and it’s to wrap his arms around his soulmate, holding on for dear life, not caring about the tears that are rolling down his cheeks and into Eggsy’s hair.

Why would he when Eggsy is holding onto him just as tightly? When he can feel Eggsy’s own tears on his throat?

They’re both safe.

They’re both _home_.

That’s the only thing that matters.


End file.
